


Haunting Memories

by silvermoongirl10



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis avoids the others, Aramis can't listen to the others bad mouth Marsac, Aramis struggling with his memories of Savoy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e01 Friends and Enemies, Episode: s01e04 The Good Soldier, Friendship, Gen, Porthos is worried, Porthos looking out for his brother, Porthos only wants to help, Savoy, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2086638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvermoongirl10/pseuds/silvermoongirl10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chap 1: 'The situation was so similar to the nightmare he had survived five years ago, he couldn’t think about anything else. Another troop of Musketeers had suffered when snow covered the land. He used to love the snow. Now it was only a reminder of that terrible night, and a herald of death. For some unknown reason Aramis knew they would not find Cornay or his troop alive.'</p><p>Chap 2: With Savoy's arrival Aramis is reminded of the horrors of a snow covered forest, Marsac brings hope of achieving justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't seem to stop writing fics about the Savoy massacre, there will be a part two to this story so keep an eye out. I will update 'Leaving is never an option among friends' but this idea wouldn't leave me alone and just had to be written!

"A troop of Musketeers can't just disappear" commented Athos.

"Cornay is one of the finest soldiers I ever met" stressed Porthos, "There has to be a good reason!"

Aramis frowned, "Or a bad one."

The three of them mounted their horses and began the ride back to Paris. While Porthos and Athos were each lost in their thoughts thinking of all the reasons what could have happened to loyal Captain Cornay. Aramis, on the other hand, was trying to _not_ get lost in his thoughts. From the moment he had replied to Porthos' statement he felt the cold hand of Savoy creeping up on him. For Porthos and Athos it was simple, Cornay would not abandon his duty, it was not a question to them. It wasn't for Aramis either, but he knew, from first-hand experience, that it did not matter how loyal a solider was. Something could always go wrong that could lead to a troop of Musketeers disappearing.

The situation was so similar to the nightmare he had survived five years ago, he couldn't think about anything else. Another troop of Musketeers had suffered when snow covered the land. He used to love the snow. Now it was only a reminder of that terrible night, and a herald of death. For some unknown reason Aramis knew they would not find Cornay or his troop alive.

They stopped at an inn to allow their horses some time to rest. While Athos went to buy a bottle of wine, Aramis stared at his hands forgetting Porthos sat across from him. The joyful sounds in the inn began to fade away into the dying moans of his friends from five years ago. The sharp sound of a chair scraping back became the ring of metal as sword clashed with sword. He flinched when from the corner of his eye he spotted someone walking past him, while he had been trying to hide his thoughts from his friends. His eyes flickered over to Porthos and he could see that his friend had noticed his strange behaviour.

"Aramis? What's wrong?" asked Porthos, his eyes looking all around them. Looking for something that could be the cause for setting Aramis on edge.

"Nothing" he shrugged, not meeting Porthos' gaze.

Porthos frowned, "Whatever it is. It is _not_ nothing."

"I'm fine Porthos" sighed Aramis, they already had enough to worry about in finding out what happened to Cornay. He didn't need Porthos (and subsequently Athos) worrying about him and his memories of Savoy.

" _Aramis_ " warned Porthos as he leaned closer from across the table.

Aramis leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, just as Athos dropped back into his chair and looked between his friends. "Is everything alight?"

"Fine" interjected Aramis cutting over Porthos,

Porthos nodded at Athos, but he shot Aramis a look which clearly said they would be finishing their conversation.

* * *

Aramis was nervous when the garrison came into sight. He knew as soon as they arrived; Athos would go and report to Treville, leaving Porthos the perfect opportunity to corner him and continue the conversation from the inn. Something he dreaded with every fibre of his being.

However, Aramis needn't have worried. For within seconds of their arrival a young man (more like a boy) from Gascony arrived and commanded Athos to fight a duel. He was impressed with the boy. Athos could look very intimidating to those who did not know him well and the boy showed a lot of spirit challenging Athos to a duel. It entertained him greatly and it took his mind off Savoy. Until he heard the boy mention that as his father died he said Athos' name. Then he only felt sorry for the boy. It was never easy to lose those you cared about. Especially when it happened in front of you.

While he was scared and worried about Athos' execution scheduled for dawn the next morning, it did mean Porthos was too preoccupied to question him about what he had been thinking about after the monastery.

Until they went to the inn where the boy, d'Artangan's father had been killed and looked at the attacker d'Artangan had shot. When he stated that the second bullet hole could only have come from Cornay's troop being attacked. He felt Porthos' eyes on him, his palms grew sweaty and his heart beat quickened. It was too similar to five years ago, far too familiar and he began to wonder. Did they suffer much? Were their deaths quick? Or, like so many in Savoy, did they fight back only to be painfully cut down?

And then it happened.

They found Cornay and his troop dead in a snow covered forest. The crows squawked and flapped their wings, as he reached out to Cornay with a shaky hand. He closed his eyes momentarily in silent pain when he confirmed it was Cornay they had found. The troop's skin had a blue tinge to it and they were frozen to the touch. They looked exactly how his friends from five years ago looked when Porthos had taken him from the site of the massacre. He didn't remember much after Marsac had left him, but he clearly remembered how his friends had looked as they laid stiff and rigid unmoving in the snow.

What made things worse was that Cornay's troop had obviously been tasked with looking after something important, because there were twenty-two men in the troop. The exact same number of men that had entered the forest on the border with Savoy. Aramis shivered, but it was not from the cold. He stared out at the forest in front of him and without even trying he could see the men from the troop he had been a part of lying dead in front of him.

He rose shakily to his feet and brushed the snow off his cloak. He looked forlornly at Cornay and his men, he hated it but they had to leave them in the forest for the crows to peck at them. At least until they reported back to Treville. He turned and found Porthos watching him, he brushed past his friend and followed d'Artangan to the horses. He knew Porthos would try and talk to him, even despite searching for the men framing Athos, but Aramis was in no mood to talk. He wanted to find the men responsible for Cornay's and his men's deaths. He hadn't got justice for his friends, but he would make sure Cornay and his men did, even if it was the last thing he did. So with new resolve he pushed Savoy out of his mind and began to come up with a plan.

* * *

Porthos watched as Aramis walked away, instead of the dull look that had taken control in his eyes since the monastery, now Aramis' eyes burned with a fire. A fire he knew meant Aramis would do everything he could to get justice for Cornay and the men of the troop. He looked down and for a moment his vision blurred with tears. As he looked out at the troop he found himself back on the border with Savoy.

_His feet crunched in the snow, every way he turned there was a fallen Musketeer staring blankly up at the sky. He opened his mouth to call Aramis' name, but nothing came out. He was stunned into silence. He couldn't believe the sight in front of him, he hadn't wanted to believe Aramis had been killed; but the sight in front of him slowly began to diminish any hope he had of finding his brother alive._

_Slowly he walked to the edge of the campsite, and there sat slumped against a tree was Aramis. Porthos surged towards his friend, his feet slipped not finding any grip on the frozen snow in his haste to reach his brother. His throat burned as he tried to hold back tears. He dropped to his knees beside Aramis and tears trickled down his cheeks when he saw Aramis still lived._

_Gently he shook Aramis' shoulder, he gasped in shock when he felt how cold Aramis was. His brother's eyes flickered open into half slits. Despite the situation Porthos found himself smiling a little._

" _I've got you Aramis" he said as he gently pulled Aramis into his arms. He carried Aramis to his horse, Aramis' head hung limply but Porthos could see him staring at the bodies of their friends. He shuffled Aramis in his arms so his brother's head rested against his shoulder, there tucked against him Porthos blocked Aramis' view of the troop. Aramis was already going to suffer nightmares, he didn't need the added memory of their frozen brothers._

Porthos shook himself out of the memory, he turned away from Cornay and watched as Aramis walked towards the horses. For weeks after the massacre Aramis had kept to himself, he said few words and seemed to be trapped in his memories of a living nightmare; whether he was awake or asleep. Porthos had no intention of letting Aramis slip back into that state. Back then it was almost as if Aramis prayed for death, Porthos had only just been able to drag Aramis back into the land of the living. There was no chance of him letting Aramis pull himself away from all human contact and fade away into death.

Suddenly, he felt anger surge up inside of him. It was bad enough Aramis had barely survived the massacre five years ago, now another troop had been slaughtered in a snow covered forest. To make matters worse, Cornay and his troop had been stripped of their uniforms. That only added to the injustice of the situation in his eyes.

* * *

It was done. Athos was saved and all was well. Except it wasn't for Aramis. Adele had gone away with the Cardinal and now he didn't have to worry about Athos he didn't have anything to take his mind off his memories of Savoy. He shut the door to his rooms quietly as he rubbed a hand across his face. From where he stood he could see the remaining snow out of his window, he shivered and then walked slowly as if in a daze to the window. He pushed it open and let the cold air breeze into the room. Ever since the massacre he had always felt the cold more keenly, but since the news of Cornay's disappearance it had been worse. His joints felt stiff and it was as if the cold itself had settled deep into his bones.

Distantly he heard the crunch of boots on snow and the ring of metal as a nearby Blacksmith made swords. He leaned his back against the wall as he clenched his eyes shut and let himself slide down the wall. He cradled his head in his hands and with his lack of energy he gave up trying to push back the horrifying memories and just let them play out before his eyes.

_Night had fallen but Aramis was sat on a log looking out at the expanding forest next to the campfire. Behind him was Alfred who was on watch, they may have been on a training exercise but it never hurt to be too careful. He turned to look at Alfred to make sure he was alright, being on watch in the snow was never fun. It made you see things that aren't really there. Many times Aramis himself over the years had thought he'd seen attackers sneaking around in the dark. He was not alone. Every Musketeer in the Regiment had done so. He looked back in front of him and smiled seeing Marsac give young Francis instruction on the best way to fight with a sword in snowy conditions. Snow always played havoc in a fight, it didn't allow a soldier (or anyone else just walking down a street) enough grip to be able to stay standing without wobbling all over the place._

_He tilted his head a little hearing a twig snap. It was probably just an animal but his years of experience as a soldier did not allow him to dismiss the sound. Next thing he heard was a soft thump. He turned back around to Alfred to see the young man lying on the ground with a red stain growing around him. He swiftly rose to his feet and ran to Alfred, but the young man was already dead. He would have died before he hit the ground. He turned his head again and saw black hooded figures sneak around the edge of the campsite. He knew it was not the snow playing tricks on him._

" _Attack!" he hollered and he drew his sword, he cursed when he remembered he had left his pistols in his tent._

_What happened next was all a blur. It was chaos and the Musketeers fought with everything they had, but they didn't have much in terms of ammunition (for those who found their pistols). It was only a training exercise so they had just enough incase bandits attacked them on the road. This was not a bandit attack. These attackers had come with the purpose to slaughter them all._

_He watched with a sense of detachment as his brothers fell all around him. It didn't seem real. It_ _couldn't_ _be real!_

_Francis fell and then Aramis felt a surge of anger within him. He marched towards the attacker who killed Francis and who appeared to be the leader (his men were in a slightly spread out group around him). He knew if he got rid of the leader it would leave his men in a state of confusion, with no leader they had no orders. Ignoring all chivalry (for these attackers certainly weren't showing any) he slashed at the leader's back. The leader cried out in pain and fell forward into the snow. Aramis raised his sword to deal the final blow, but out of nowhere a hilt of a sword connected with his head. Then all he saw was darkness._

_Aramis blinked open his eyes praying he had just fallen asleep by the campfire and suffered a nightmare. However, when he pulled himself to his feet he saw he was not next to the campfire, or in his tent. He felt something wrapped around his head and raising a hand to touch it he found it was a rag, he realised someone had tied it as a bandage around his head. He hoped and prayed that he had slipped on the snow and hit his head, but he wandered past a tree and stopped suddenly. In front of him were his Musketeer brothers spread out staring blankly up at the sky._

_It was not a nightmare. It was real. He stared wide eyed in disbelief, it was then he saw Marsac sat among the bodies. Marsac rose stiffly to his feet and looked at Aramis with the same blank look in his eyes as their dead brothers. He could force no words out of his mouth as Marsac threw down his shoulder armour and began walking away without a backward glance._

_He turned left and right and could not escape the faces of his brothers. While they were limp, he could not help but see written across their faces one accusatory statement. "Why do you still live when we do not?"_

_Tears stung the backs of his eyes and he stumbled back and collapsed against a tree. He curled forward with his head in his hands which rested on his knees, he mumbled the same two words in his head and aloud over and over again._

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

_His throat constricted and even with his eyes closed he could see their faces. His shoulders shook as he sobbed silently. He didn't have a voice, as his brothers lost their lives it was only fair he lost something in return._

_The cold bit into his limbs and slowly seeped into his body, it felt as if death itself was slowly claiming his body and soul inch by freezing inch._

_Warmth suddenly pushed onto his shoulders and he tried to squirm away from it, his body shook; but this time not from sobs. It was as if someone was shaking him. Shaking the life back into him._

"Aramis!"

_The warmth was beginning to flood him so he tried even harder to get away from it. He deserved the cold, not the warmth. Not when his brothers who deserved warmth and life; were frozen._

"Aramis!"

He snapped open his eyes, his cheeks were wet from the tears that had been streaming down his face and his hands were clenching his sleeves. He lifted his eyes a little and found Porthos crouched in front of him staring at him worriedly.

"Aramis?" questioned Porthos, his eyes boring into Aramis'.

"It's nothing" shrugged Aramis, the best he could from where he was curled up leaning against the wall.

"Nothing?! That was _not nothing_!" snapped Porthos, Aramis (against his will) flinched. Porthos cringed at his sharp tone of voice and softened. "Aramis what is wrong? That wasn't nothing."

"It's fine" assured Aramis quickly, "I've dealt with it alone before. It's fine."

"What do you mean you've dealt with this alone?!" exclaimed Porthos, "That is _not_ fine!"

Aramis shrugged again, "I never wanted to bother anyone."

"You didn't want to – Aramis we are your friends. Your _brothers_. You _wouldn't_ be bothering us!" stressed Porthos, his grip tightening on Aramis' shoulders.

* * *

Porthos looked at his friend, he had to swallow back tears seeing the tears in Aramis' eyes and the ones that had fell down his cheeks. Aramis' hands still held onto his own sleeves, the grip so tight his knuckles were white. Porthos moved his hands to cover Aramis', intending to loosen Aramis' tight grip, but he gasped feeling how cold Aramis' skin was to the touch.

"You're freezing!" he cried,

Aramis looked at his hands vaguely, "Am I?"

Porthos gaped at his brother in shock, he looked up and saw the open window. He stood and shut the window with a clatter. "Why did you have the window open in this weather?"

"I'm always cold when I remember what happened, thought I might as well open the window." Murmured Aramis as he stared at his hands, "I should have fallen with them. I'm so tired. Pushing back the memories is getting to be too much. Cornay and his troop got justice, and I'm happy for them, but what about those lost five years ago?"

Porthos reached down and pulled Aramis to his feet, "Now you listen to me. Stop talking about how you should have died! I can't tell you how relieved I was when I found you _alive_! You _have_ to stop believing that you deserved death back then and begin living life to the fullest!"

" _How_?" pleaded Aramis as he gripped his hair tightly, "I've forgotten what it was like to live before the massacre!"

"That's why you need to talk about it!" responded Porthos, "You can't keep it bottled up. One day it will burst out and it might destroy you in the process."

Aramis looked at him with sad eyes, "I can't. I've seen the look on your face when the Savoy massacre is mentioned. Knowing how it upsets you I _can't_ tell you in detail what happened. I can't do that to you."

Porthos smiled sadly at Aramis, "You are too good of a person for your own good. You can tell me Aramis. You _need_ to tell me. One day it will become too much and I will lose you for good, you are my brother I _can't_ lose you." He saw Aramis try and stop his shivering and he could see how Aramis' eyes still looked a little haunted. "I promise you will get justice for the massacre five years ago."

"Please don't say that" murmured Aramis shaking his head, "It's been five years." He continued in a tired and defeated voice, "It was looked into and was determined as a Spanish attack. There won't be justice."

Porthos hated how Aramis seemed upset with the knowledge that he wouldn't get justice for his friends, but also accepted it. "Someday you will Aramis, I just know it."

Aramis nodded, Porthos guided his friend to his bed and once Aramis was settled in his bed and had fallen asleep. Porthos relaxed in the chair he sat in next to the bed and watched over his friend. Aramis always took great care of everyone he came across; stranger or Musketeer and it was about time someone looked after Aramis. Porthos was just a bit ashamed that it had taken him five years to finally begin to _really_ help Aramis through his memories of Savoy.

If only he knew how soon justice would come knocking and how unprepared for the truth they would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I have got the chance to continue writing stories, between my new job and now coming back to uni my life has become so hectic. I literally live in the library so my brain has turned into mush. Last night my friends and I re-watched some episodes of The Musketeers so I had that in my head today and it sparked enough inspiration for me to write this second chapter (finally).
> 
> Right, enough of my ramblings (I said my brain had gone to mush) and I will let you get on with reading this chapter. I apologize in advance if some things don't make sense, I still have facts for my history essay swirling around my head and I'm pretty sure you don't want to read about it.
> 
> Also I kind of rush through what happened during the episode because I wanted to focus on what happened afterwards.

Aramis stood in the garrison courtyard waiting quietly as his fellow Musketeers gathered waiting for Treville. He smirked when he spotted d'Artagnan entering the garrison. The night before he, Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan were celebrating completing yet another assignment. Porthos had managed to convince their youngest friend to try and keep up with the amount of wine Athos was consuming. The boy had been doing well, when out of nowhere he began to act like a typical drunk; it did not, however, deter him. He continued to match Athos drink for drink, until he passed out and landed in a heap on the floor.

So now the boy was frowning, blinking against the glare of the early morning sun and rubbing his head. All of which suggested to Aramis, d'Artagnan had a very nasty hangover. He heard a deep chuckle next to him, he turned and sure enough Porthos was stood beside him also watching d'Artagnan.

Aramis shook his head, "Was it really necessary to goad the lad into trying to match Athos' drinking?"

"I just wanted to see what his limit was, but you have to admit it was very entertaining" grinned Porthos.

"It was very cruel" commented Aramis as he tried to hide his smile.

"I didn't hear you try and stop him!" Porthos exclaimed in a mock defensive tone.

Aramis raised an eyebrow at his friend, "I assume we are talking about the same d'Artagnan. The same boy who we both know to be a stubborn Gascon who will not admit defeat in any challenge he is set?"

"I suppose" grunted Porthos.

Aramis sniggered and then turned back to d'Artagnan. Who had stumbled over to the table and heavily sat down on one of the chairs. He made to walk over to the young Gascon but Treville arrived so he instead stood in formation with everyone else.

Treville stood on the stairs that led to his office and waited while his men quickly quietened. He told everyone what they were doing for the day and Aramis tapped his foot impatiently. He wanted Treville to finish what he was saying so he could do his patrol and get on with his day.

"Next week is going to be very busy for us all, the King is engaging in important discussions for a Treaty. So you must all be vigilant and no fighting with the Red Guards who will be there when the discussions take place" commented Treville with a sharp glare.

Porthos leaned closer to Aramis and muttered, "You getting the feeling Treville said that last bit to only us?"

Aramis just about managed to choke down his laughter, and quietly replied, "You must admit we do fight with the Red Guards more than anyone else."

Porthos sighed, "Treville's just taking the fun out of everything."

Aramis snorted, but hastily quietened when Treville's glare was levelled on him. From the corner of his eye he could see Athos sending him and Porthos a disapproving look. With one more amused look at Porthos, Aramis turned back to what Treville was saying.

"Now I know he can say insulting comments and it is hard to appear indifferent. Nevertheless I expect you to remain respectful to the Duke of Savoy…"

Aramis gasped as the rest of what Treville was saying faded away as his own pulse roared in his ears.

The Duke of Savoy.

Savoy.

A forest.

Snow.

Massacre.

Twenty dead.

Cold.

The garrison faded away and he was stood in that snow covered forest once again, with his brothers lying still on the floor all around him. He watched as Marsac threw down his uniform and walked away. He stood in the campsite as the only survivor of a massacre that had claimed twenty of his brothers.

_He turned left and right and could not escape the faces of his brothers. While they were limp, he could not help but see written across their faces one accusatory statement. "Why do you still live when we do not?"_

_Tears stung the backs of his eyes and he stumbled back and collapsed against a tree. He curled forward with his head in his hands which rested on his knees, he mumbled the same two words in his head and aloud over and over again._

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

"I'm sorry."

"Aramis?"

He blinked and found himself stood in the garrison once again. Treville was not stood on the stairs and everyone else was walking around as they got on with what they were supposed to be doing. He startled when a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Aramis? What's wrong?" questioned Porthos worriedly.

Aramis shook himself and managed to force his voice to sound normal. "Nothing" he then plastered a fake smile on his face and headed towards the stables so he could get his horse and ride to the Palace for his patrol. All the while trying to ignore the feeling of Porthos' eyes following him.

He would be fine. It was summer, not winter. There was no snow. It was warm. It wasn't cold. He and his friends were not camping in a forest. No one could sneak up and attack them. There wouldn't be a massacre. It was fine. He would be alright.

Despite the hot sun he could still feel the cold that slowly claimed his limbs. He knew then, in the next week it was only going to get worse. For him Savoy was never that far away, every time he camped in a forest or wood. Normally Paris was safe for him, but it wasn't now.

He wasn't alright.

* * *

The day of the Duke of Savoy's arrival had arrived. All week Aramis had been quiet, he had plastered a fake smile on his face all week. He had to have been convincing as Porthos seemed to be the only one who was aware that something was wrong. Either he had done a good job of avoiding Porthos every time he had the opportunity to ask if something was wrong, or Porthos had sensed that he didn't want to talk about it. Either way Aramis didn't have to explain what was bothering him, so he was perfectly fine with that.

Every night he woke to nightmares of a snow covered forest, every part of him felt cold; it didn't matter how much wood he put in the fireplace for the fire. No heat touched him. Every inch of him was freezing.

He and his friends were stood to attention in the summer's heat waiting for the Duke. He was not paying attention to what was happening around him. He was too busy trying not to think about the twenty of his brothers who had not lived to see this day. Then he heard Athos asking Porthos what was wrong with him, he internally groaned when d'Artagnan asked about the massacre. He knew he was going to be getting a lot of questions from the boy, something he very much wanted to avoid.

* * *

It was too much. Treville couldn't possibly have betrayed him and his brothers five years ago, he _couldn't have_. But the evidence was stacking up against his Captain, the man who had given him a place in the finest Regiment in all of France. The man who had remained steadfast beside him after he returned the sole survivor of the massacre. He listened as his closest friends discussed heatedly how Marsac was wrong; Treville was no traitor to the Musketeers.

Aramis was leaning against the wall dejectedly. Across from him Marsac remained huddled on the floor and the man Marsac had killed still hanging by his arms from the ceiling.

"Aramis" he turned hearing Athos call his name. He sighed as he slowly pushed himself off the wall and shuffled over to his friends. He looked up and he could see Porthos knew what he was thinking.

"You can't believe Treville had something to do with the massacre?!" exclaimed Porthos with an angry edge to his voice.

Aramis flinched hearing the tone directed at him. He looked down at his feet as he softly replied, "I don't know what to think."

Athos nodded, "Well then, we'll just investigate what we can about the Duke."

The others began to break their small circle when Aramis shot his head up and forcefully grounded out, "No we won't."

"Aramis?" Questioned d'Artagnan in a quiet voice.

"We will still look at Treville's involvement" he firmly stated.

Athos stood silent in shock, when Porthos frowned and took a step forward almost threateningly, "You just said you didn't think Treville was involved."

Aramis raised his head higher and glared at Porthos not backing down. "No I said I didn't know what to think. I don't want to _believe_ Treville had anything to do with what happened, he more or less saved my life by making me a Musketeer. But a few months ago you promised I would get justice for those who were lost five years ago. Justice means investigating every possible angle. So we _will_ look at Treville."

There must have been something in his eyes, for Porthos backed down and looked worriedly at him. Aramis ignored Porthos' look and marched past his friends towards Marsac and pulled the man to his feet.

As they exited the building he pretended not to notice the looks directed at him from his friends. Slowly the cold was fading from his limbs to be replaced by an all-consuming fire. For once he felt justice was in his grasp and now he felt he could do something to atone for his survival and his brothers' deaths.

* * *

Aramis didn't feel the rain that slipped down his face and the back of his neck. He eyes remained fixed on Marsac's grave for a few moments before he plunged his sword into the earth and began to walk away. Hoping now the ghosts of Savoy could finally be laid to rest.

He didn't know where he was walking, and to be honest he didn't care. When he looked up he found himself outside the inn he and the others frequented most nights. He looked through the window and sure enough d'Artagnan, Athos and Porthos were sat in their normal places. Tonight, however, Aramis did not feel like joining them, so he continued walking, again not taking note of where he was or where he was going.

Not long after he then found himself, not at his lodgings, but at a church. He pushed open the door knowing the priest kept it open all hours for those wanting to seek comfort. It was almost pitch black, save for the few lit candles littered around the wide open space casting long, flickering shadows up the walls. He walked up to the alter with quiet steps, there he slowly fell to his knees and clasped his hands together and began to pray for those lost at Savoy. And for Marsac.

He did not try to block out his memories of that dreadful night, instead he let every last detail play before his eyes. Finally he knew the truth and in a slight way justice had been served, not the way he had wanted. But answers had been given to the questions that had haunted him for five years.

He bowed his head ignoring the tears that slipped down his cheeks, he closed his eyes and not for the first time wondered why he had been the one to survive. With Marsac's death he truly was the sole survivor. Athos, d'Artagnan and Porthos, while they had tried to help him, did not understand what it was like to be the sole survivor of a massacre of dearest friends. And he prayed to God they never would.

His knees began to ache from where he rested his weight on them, but he did not move. Not until the sun's rays filtered through the windows. Through the night his hair and clothes had dried leaving him feeling chilled, but he didn't care. He slowly and stiffly rose to his feet and with one cold hand he went to adjust his hat and then remembered he did not have it. It was still in Constance's house where Marsac had knocked him unconscious. Marsac. He shut his eyes momentarily, the pain of the death of his friend cutting him deeply. He sucked in a breath and began to walk out of the church.

Soon, too soon, he was walking into the courtyard of the garrison. His friends were sat in their normal places at the table, their heads snapped up to look at him as he slowly approached.

D'Artagnan gave him a small smile and held out his hat, "Constance found it."

Aramis nodded his thanks and placed his hat on his head and sat down with the others.

"You never go anywhere without that hat" frowned Porthos.

"With all that was happening I simply forgot about it" replied Aramis, his voice hoarse from not talking and his slight chill.

Porthos' frown deepened and Athos just gave him a look he didn't want to translate.

"You didn't join us last night" said Athos as he sent Aramis a look he couldn't read.

He shrugged, "Went for a walk."

"In the rain?!" exclaimed Porthos unhappily.

"It didn't bother me" croaked Aramis.

"Oh I can see _that_ " snarked Porthos. Aramis flinched and was very glad he was in the seat next to d'Artagnan.

"I heard about what happened yesterday, I'm sorry Aramis" commented d'Artagnan softly.

Aramis swallowed hard and sent the boy a grateful smile that almost resembled his usual smile. From the corner of his eye he saw Porthos and Athos exchange an angry look, and he knew they were about to say something about Marsac. Unable to listen he stiffly rose to his feet and went to go and sit at the edge of the kitchen to listen to Serge. The old man never minded when anyone came to the kitchen, and he knew when a person wanted a conversation or when a person merely wanted to listen to Serge dribble on about this and that. Aramis had done this often after he had returned from Savoy.

* * *

In the next week Aramis spent his days practising with his sword alone until he was utterly exhausted, and he spent his nights going to the church and thought about the massacre and the whole situation of Marsac's return. He knew if he was to try and sleep he would wake shaking and sweating with a scream about to burst from his throat. He couldn't face sleeping, but he knew it would only be a matter of time until the others intervened; so he avoided them. He hated to see the hurt look in Porthos' eyes, but he couldn't face his brother now. Not when he knew Porthos would say something bad about Marsac, he wasn't ready to face that just yet. He knew what Marsac did was wrong, but how could you speak ill of someone who had saved your life?

Night had fallen so Aramis began to walk to the church, he was so tired he didn't realise someone was watching him from a distance; and that someone was now following him.

He was near the alter of the church when he heard a second set of footsteps enter the church behind him. He stopped and tensed, he was about to draw his sword when he tilted his head and from the corner of his eye he saw who had followed him. He sighed and dropped his hands beside him and stared straight ahead.

"Aramis?" questioned Porthos quietly as he slowly approached his friend, as one would approach a frightened animal.

"It's alright Porthos" commented Aramis, his voice croaky from the lack of use, "Everything is fine. There's no need for you to worry."

"There is _every_ need for me to worry!" spat Porthos as he marched towards his friend and spun Aramis to face him. "It has been a week and you have not said two words to me; or Athos, or d'Artagnan, or _anyone_. That is not like you. So don't tell me not to worry!" In the back of his mind Porthos knew yelling was not going to help the situation, but all his pent up worries from the past week burst out and he could not real them in.

Aramis stared back at Porthos with blank eyes. "I haven't said anything to anyone because I do not want to hear what you are all bound to say about Marsac."

Porthos gaped and narrowed his eyes in frustration, "That _deserter_ is stopping you from talking to us when you obviously need someone to talk to?!"

"Don't call him that!" thundered Aramis, his voice echoing into all the corners of the church. Porthos stood in stunned silence. Aramis' voice then became quiet again. "He is the _only reason_ why I am standing in front of you! Yes I _know_ you hated him, I _know_ he deserted, I _know_ what he did was wrong. But that does not take away the fact that he was my first friend in the Regiment and that five years ago he saved my life!"

Porthos, never one to back down in a fight, stood to his full height and glared at Aramis. "If I had been there to help you five years ago, last week you would not have been blindly following Marsac-"

"If you had been there five years ago you would have been buried beside the others!" Aramis angrily countered, his voice catching on every other word as he began to use his voice again after a week of silence.

"You don't know that!"

"Of course I know that!" spat Aramis, he didn't usually like conflict but Porthos was scratching at old wounds that he didn't want touched. "I was there when you were not! _You have no idea what it was like_!"

" _Then tell me_!" pleaded Porthos. Even after they had found Cornay and his frozen troop, Aramis had still not opened up about what happened to him in Savoy. Porthos had seen Aramis was not yet ready to confront what had happened, but seeing his friend now; Porthos knew Aramis had to talk about it. For his own good. His own words to Aramis about talking about Savoy after finding Cornay came back to him; _"You can't keep it bottled up. One day it will burst out and it might destroy you in the process."_

"Fine! You want to know what happened even after I told you, you didn't want to know? Here you are!" exploded Aramis. Porthos was shocked, he didn't actually think Aramis would tell him, he must have really wound Aramis up enough for him to not register what he was telling Porthos.

As Aramis divulged what had happened to him five years ago; he paced running his hands constantly through his hair and his voice would hitch as he poured out his grief and guilt. Porthos had tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he listened and thought about Aramis alone in that snow covered forest with their fallen brothers.

When Aramis stopped, he took a shaky breath and then sank down to sit on the alter steps. Porthos looked forlornly at his brother as Aramis rested his head in his hands. He knelt in front of Aramis and rested a comforting hand on his brother's knee.

"I'm sorry Aramis. I am so very sorry that I never realized or understood" he softly said.

Aramis shook his head, "No, I'm glad you didn't understand. I'd hate for anyone to go through what I have done. While I hated to see Cornay and his troop slaughtered, I am glad for them that none of them had to carry the same burden I carry every day."

"Well I'm here to help you carry that burden now" commented Porthos.

Aramis lifted his head in shock and smiled faintly seeing the serious look on his brother's face. He reached out and placed a hand on Porthos' shoulder. "I am glad you are with me brother, without you I would have been lost like Marsac."

"Never" choked Porthos, "I will never let you become lost, just as you would do the same for me. You sew people back together, body and mind, now let others do the same for you. You don't have to pay penance for what happened in Savoy. You did nothing wrong."

"But I survived when twenty fell!" protested Aramis with shining eyes with unshed tears.

Porthos squeezed Aramis' shoulder, "There is nothing wrong with surviving. It is easy to give up and die, but it is brave to get back up and continue living as you have done brother."

Aramis nodded, his eyes and head began drooping as the lack of sleep finally started to catch up to him. Porthos shifted so he was sat beside Aramis and moved his brother so Aramis' head was comfortably cushioned against him, and he wrapped an arm around Aramis' shoulders. He looked up hearing footsteps and smiled seeing the Priest walking towards him holding a few blankets. The sliver headed old man gently wrapped blankets around the Musketeers and left them with a smile.

Porthos looked down to see Aramis sleeping soundly and he was content to watch over his brother as he slept. Aramis had done this many times when Porthos had been wounded, it was only fair Porthos return the favour now.

He conceded that Marsac had done two things right; he had saved Aramis five years ago and he had saved him again the past week by bringing to light what had happened. Now answers had been given and Porthos hoped with those answers Aramis could live a more peaceful life. Without the dark memories hanging over him like a noose, ready to choke him at moment's notice.

**The End.**


End file.
